


xoxo, lou

by mcrhomo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Atheism, Gen, Letters, Love Letters, Mental Health Issues, Religion, Religious Content, Religious Discussion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:13:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22489210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcrhomo/pseuds/mcrhomo
Summary: Letters that I'll never send.





	1. To whom it may apply, the creator, if there is one

To whom it may apply, the creator, if there is one:

No matter how peaceful or pleasurable my life has been, may be, or will get, I feel there will always be a part of me that will be asking, "why me?" 

The question repeats itself in times of trial, and even throughout peaceful, pleasurable lives, there will forever and always be times of trial. Most times of trial have to do with my brain and the way it fights itself and the way that most times, I don't feel like living has any value to it. Okay, I say to myself. Grit your teeth. Bear it. 

However, the command to "grit your teeth and bear it" does not relieve the constant question in my head of, "why me?" It's a reasonable request, though everyone who has sincerely asked it of you has never gotten a response. That is the way you function, and frankly I am sick and tired of it. Those who have, in the most formal way possible, "gone through it," never get their response. Don't they at least deserve a reason?

I find it difficult, to say the least, to conform to organized religious views, particularly Christian ones. They say that God is love and loves everyone He has created. How is that possible? If God is love, then why do I feel like dying? Why am I so miserable every day that I must ask myself why I endure it? Why am I afraid of hurting the ones I love?

I am not even the least of the suffering on this planet. If God is love, then why do children get murdered? If God is love, then why is there disease? If God is love, why is there abuse? Why is there corruption? Why is there discrimination? Why is there poverty?

I cannot even begin to think of how much these people must ask the aforesaid question: "why me?"

They haven't done anything. They don't deserve it. You are a God of mercy, correct? Give it to them.

Your observers can be some of the kindest people on this suffering earth, if not damned to prejudice. Do they not deserve mercy? They follow your word like the rain to the plow, and they can still suffer like they do and still call you a God of love. 

This is a twisted love you're showing, and if there's anything I know about the creator, if there is one, it's this:

God is a masochist.

XOXO,

Lou


	2. To the six souls who affected mine either so devilishly or so kindly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nowhere I hate more than Hearne Avenue.

To the six souls who affected mine either so devilishly or so kindly:

October to December, the year 2019. Those months were the most hell of my life, to be completely honest. If you had too much time to think about trivial topics and dabbled in the theories of philosophy like I, you would know that there are two kinds of people on this Earth, those who attempt to see only the good in the bad times, and those who attempt to see only the bad in the good times. It's a very complex theory, and neither of these people are inherently wrong or inherently immoral for being the way that they are. I actually have never figured out which category I fall into, because although I do have enough time to think about trivial topics, I choose to only think about the topics that I feel are important, and that is not one of them. 

Anyhow, in this letter I will try to be both the latter and former of those categories while addressing the six of you all. You may think, "Dear Lord, a letter to six people? How absurd!" and in retaliation to that, I believe I am matured enough and have little enough shame to say that frankly, I don't care.

This letter was not made by a travel blogger or online "news" journalist, so there will be no "get ready." There will be no "buckle your seatbelts," unless you're in a moving vehicle and haven't, in which case, please buckle your seatbelt. All I will say at this moment is this: let me begin.

First, to the reason I was there in the first place:

You're trying your best. I'm not sure if that's what matters or if that's what makes it all the more wrong. Your best has never really influenced anyone positively. It's why I'm the burnout that I am. It's why the school that I've dreamt of going to will probably no longer take me. Although, I would probably end up taking adderall in the school bathrooms instead of going to class.

I had gone most of my life with you majorly or entirely absent. That hadn't mostly changed when I got there, except for the fact that my life was controlled by you. It was a recipe for disaster: you weren't there, but your rules and your discipline were. 

The smartphone personified you. Do you know how to hide emotion in your voice while showing it plain and clear on your face? It's a skill that I've learned after all these years, perfected in those three months, and was required to be known if I were to live with you.

One last word of advice, if you actually want us to trust or respect you: stop making promises. Or at least knock on wood after you make them.

To the connection to the chaos:

You have the spectacular talent of putting on a face. No, no, quit honestly, it's impressive. You should be an actor. You could express one thing with so much sincerity that we all have no choice but to believe you, and then within closed doors tell someone the truth (or maybe even another lie, who knows?), and they would let it slip to the rest of us. You should know that anyone related to you has no bearing to a secret.

Are you really as vulnerable as it seems? Are you really in so much pain? Do you really love him, or was he an escape route? I wouldn't blame you, honestly, but the drama is following you so closely it just seems like you're trying to get out. 

I'm not sure if your life actually was miserable or if it's all just some elaborate lie. You're good at that, you know.

To the one who is somehow on everyone's side:

I had never known what mixed feelings were until I had met you--or, rather, when I discovered your hypocrisy. I always thought you would be on my side, considering I was never mean to you or never yelled at you and did the best I could to understand what you were going through...all in vain! Of the two types of people, you are the latter. You only see the bad. 

We had such great times before they came. Twinkle lights, walking to the store, staying up way too late, cooking whatever was cheap and filling. Why did it have to change? Why was it so suddenly that you were so cold? Did you ever even care at all? 

Even as people tell me you wronged me, I continue to defend you. I have to give you the benefit of the doubt in this. You're younger than me, you're under a lot of stress, and you must have a ridiculous case of cabin fever. 

I wish you at least had the decency to insult me where I couldn't hear it. You learn your ways from the best, though.

To the pawn made tormentor:

There's not really much I have to say about you. You're not even your own person, I believe, just a puppet. Writing a letter about all of the things you've done would be like writing two separate letters to the same person-- or rather, it'd be like writing a letter each to the ventriloquist and his dummy. 

Please get your own head back. She's not worth it. I know you love her. 

Learn how to live as yourself and learn how to live without her. It'll be more peaceful, I promise.

To the tormentor herself:

With all due respect, go fuck yourself. You hurt me deeply and you made my life hell. I pity your children for having to be raised by you. How did you,of all people, create something so perfect? 

Do you know what it feels like to be convinced you're delusional? Do you have any fucking idea? Do you know what it's like to be perpetually afraid that you're going to hurt someone you love and not even remember doing so? Do you know what it's like to be afraid that every moment you've ever lived is something your psychosis has conceived and that you're going to wake in an entirely different place? Do you know what it's like to be afraid that you have no one and that anyone who's ever cared for you is something you created to cope? Do you know? Do you have any fucking clue?

I think two things that made you so successful in your torment is your certainty and your temperateness. You had a way of saying "this is the way that it happened. There is no other way that it could have played out," and you would say it with such collectedness that it would waver the very definitions of abuse.

You learn from the best, you have the same quality of the aforementioned soul in that the insincere sincerity you display is so convincing, you must be telling the truth, right?

...right?

That's the question I continued to ask myself as you caused me to question my own sanity. She must be the correct one, right? I must be remembering things wrong, right? It must be me who's out of my head, right?

You're a bad person. You're a bad _parent._ Your children, your sweet, adorable, loving children, deserve so much more and so much better. It pains me to think of what you'll turn them into.

To the naive and good-hearted, whom no one can seem to tolerate:

Your heart is so kind and so full for everyone you care about, so innocent. It hurts me. It hurts me to think about all you'll come to know and how empty that heart will become. Please never learn of anything bad in the world. All the suffering and pain and hurt and pit...it's too much.

People like to say that you should learn the world's history in order to know never to make the same mistakes again. I think it is a completely wrong philosophy. Knowledge may be power, but knowledge is also a burden. Knowledge does nothing but taint young minds like yours. 

You speak of death so casually. You speak of angels and ghosts and wanting to be free. You speak of late relatives and how they watch over you. You have so much faith in everyone you meet. This shallow Earth is a thousand times deeper to you. I hope you never know what it's like in actuality. 

Everyone that has ever walked this Earth has suffered. Are you ready?

Please, dear God, tell me you're not.

It's relevant now, I think, to acknowledge that since writing this, I have changed my name and my ego and also my gender. Thank you. 

love always,

roman


	3. to my favorite person, the ass to my dumb

to my favorite person, the ass to my dumb,

i love you more than anyone on this planet. i think we should normalize platonic love and how deep and affectionate it can be. through everyone i've been romantically involved with, you have been there as my soulmate and i am not afraid to say you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. as a society we have a tunnel vision on romance, which is why we had our weird little thing in seventh grade because we didn't understand platonic love, but i realize now that who we are together is beautiful, not to be sickenlysweet. 

the human persona is built to loathe itself and to doubt itself also, so sometimes i lie awake at night and think about you finding new friends and forgetting about me, discovering how actually uncool i am. you have to understand that you have done nothing to warrant those thoughts, it's just my paranoia making me afraid i will lose everything. don't forget that you pinky promised me in the bleachers last year that we'd let nothing come between us. don't you dare forget. 

i can't imagine not living out the rest of my stupid little life without you. i can't imagine us both finding adult lives far away from each other and liking eachother's facebook posts sometimes and not reminiscing and not making new adventures. i want to make you my legal next of kin and i want to be buried next to you so we can wreak havoc on the world for eternity like we always have. 

i love you. i will always love you, mark my words. 

love always,

roman


End file.
